


Blend

by cruisedirector



Category: Equilibrium (2002)
Genre: Background Slash, Clothed Sex, Colors, Community: contrelamontre, Dystopia, Emotionally Repressed, Enthusiastic Consent, Het and Slash, Illegal Activities, Multi, Oral Sex, Passion, Prison Sex, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-02
Updated: 2003-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary loved Errol. Errol loved John. So John loves Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the contrelamontre complementary colors challenge. This is the most het slash I've ever written.

When John Preston admitted to Mary O'Brien that he had ceased the dose, she had only one thing to give him in appreciation of his gesture. She knew he wanted it, and offered it to him willingly, with a touch of her fingertips under the monochromatic security camera capturing their every move.

Now his cleric's coat is tied around the watchful camera to create the illusion of privacy. The interrogation room is gray, the walls flat and unmarked. But Preston is like a flame glowing under the sickly lights as he presses her back to the wall, protecting her from the door with his broad golden back.

Mary's thin beige prison dress is bunched up around her neck. Preston's heavy trousers are at his ankles, his black shirt askew high on his chest. His face is streaked with Mary's wetness from the quick attempt he made to pleasure her with his mouth, before fear of the clock made her beg him to take her, now. But Preston keeps pleading, "Tell me how you did it with him."

"Him" is Errol Partridge. Mary's former lover. Preston's former partner. Dead now -- dead by Preston's gun. Shot while Preston was under the influence of the drug that has destroyed all their lives. The drug responsible for the gray room and the beige dress. Preston has come to her for absolution, and Mary gives herself to him for similar reasons. To make it worthwhile that she will die for her feelings -- die for having feelings. To leave her with the memory of ardor to take to her immolation, red-gold before the ashes.

Errol would still be on his knees, heedless of the clock, his tongue stroking over her while two fingers wriggled inside as if digging for treasure. His green-gold eyes would be half-open, intense with the effort of pleasing her. Always he took her first with his mouth, making her climax until she cried out for him to stop because the crimson bundle of nerves was burning with overload. His cheeks would flush and his eyes would glitter emerald like something out of an old painting.

Then, always, he would turn her away and push her hair over her shoulder, taking her from behind with his palms flat against her thighs. She watched him once in her ornate mirror. He fucked her efficiently, never roughly, with his eyes closed, making himself come quickly and quietly. Vanilla sex, beige sex, gray sex, that was all he wanted of her. Afterwards they would share music and food and poetry, and she would love his sweetness and how tenderly he treated her, like one of the precious works of art he rescued during raids in the Nether. But she knew he did not love her when they made love.

"What would he do?" Preston begs, and she feints with her body, arching toward him, crying out as purple-pink waves flare across her vision. Errol would never have taken her in this position, crushing her into the corner of the room. Staring directly at her as he thrust with all the force of his Monastery-trained muscles. Holding both her wrists above her head in one single broad hand to give him leverage and to lift her breasts in range of his mouth. His other hand holding her left leg up to give him access, digging fingers into her skin hard enough to leave purple-blue bruises.

The mouth descends, sucks, nips, leaves mottled purple bruises in its wake as well. Preston is so hungry. He needs this so badly. It's the opposite of making love with Errol, who was always so gentle, so giving, and then so mechanical, as if his own feelings weren't even engaged in the activity. Maybe they weren't. Maybe he could only make love by pretending he was elsewhere, the same way he could only do his job by pretending he was elsewhere. Detached from his body, drowning in gray, even without Prozium, Errol had been denied the ability to experience life.

She wonders what Errol really wanted. What he dreamed about in the soft lavender light of dawn as he passed back through the Nether to the city. What might have made him burn bright red-orange like Preston, searing her skin, her retinas. "Tell me about him," Preston begs again, moving faster, slick with sweat. This burning passion is not just for Mary, but she will take it as her due and let it drive the gray from her world for a moment in a way that not even Errol could do.

Somewhere, once, Errol must have had this russet-golden inferno inside him, these violet-scarlet blossoms, this claret-ginger sunrise. She wonders whether he held his true colors back from her...if he loved someone else. The thought seems strangely hopeful. They are all joined now, partners in this...herself, Errol, Preston, mingled in this conflagration as they will one day be joined in death.

"Errol," she whispers, feeling climax approaching in spite of Preston's selfish desperation as he bends her leg painfully, slamming deep into the burgundy heat of her body. "Errol, Errol, Errol..."

"Errol," Preston gasps in agreement and comes into her hard, slamming her head into the wall with the force of his thrust, squeezing her wrists so tightly that she fears he may snap them. The blow sends a shower of blood-colored sparkles erupting before her eyes like a translucent curtain between them. Before it stops, Preston is trembling all over, his cock twitching with aftershocks, his body taut and vibrating. When he releases her forearms, letting her slide down against his belly, she shudders and quakes with release.

"Was that what it was like with him?" asks Preston, still inside her, eyes still closed, still shaking. His voice glints like crushed velvet in the cooling gray room.

"Yes," she whispers. Because for all the ways in which it's nothing like it was with Errol, she knows there is a single point of communion. They were both pretending to be with someone else. Or perhaps they were both pretending to be someone else.

"Errol," she sighs once more, a farewell, feeling Preston quaver in her arms as the flame-colors fade. Then they both sob, their tears mingling on her face and in the unkempt curls of her auburn hair.


End file.
